


Attraction, are you ready

by ScaredyRacer



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaredyRacer/pseuds/ScaredyRacer
Summary: Here is to anyone feeling a dire need for a sweet moment between Charles and Pierre! The beginning is a bit brutal, but it pays off - mark my words.Mirror, mirror on the wall, is Pierre into me at all?
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Attraction, are you ready

Pierre had his eyes on Charles that half of a second before something, terribly, horribly painful flew into him from the side. First excruciating pain shot up his right hip and he could see his mountain bike disappear under him, the ground coming closer, screeching noises going off like a bomb. Then the world went dark and disappeared entirely... 

At least until his brain decided he had to wake up. 

_Wake up..._ Nothing. 

_Give all you got..._ A twitch in the eye. 

_Try harder..._ lips parting, awareness of air flowing inside. 

Then the numbness released itself from his body and he was suddenly making painful noises which intensified along with the uprising level of suffering. His brain had accomplished its rightful task but now complained over its own mistake of waking him up. Ouch! OUCH! Pierre was grasping at his right thigh with half of his face against the soft ground. The pain seemed to be everywhere no matter how intense the waves from his leg were. Everywhere! He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t scream like a silly girl in front of... AAH PAIN! His mouth flew open and he cried out all of his sealed-in suffering against the ground, feeling a taste of earth and grass combined entering his mouth. 

Up on the road bypassing cars took no notice. The whole race of humanity was still moving on as if nothing had happened. Charles could witness this even though he too had taken a flip onto the ground as well, and had ungracefully tumbled down the short ditch with Pierre to stop on the grass field below. He felt slightly out of it where he sat, nestling his throbbing arm with his other and his whole neck was burning in harsh pain. He stayed as still as possible as it hurt less, concentrating on taking deep, slow breaths. No panic. He had his phone in his back pocket, he just had to reach for it somehow. At the same time he hoped someone with a kind heart would turn up on the road and help them out real, real soon. It sounded like Pierre was in hysterical pain behind his back, and trying to move, Charles experienced something similar that had him howl out in pain too. That he couldn’t turn enough so he could determine how bad Pierre was doing made it worse. All he saw was the road ahead. Murky clouds bearing rain. Mourning trees. Hurrying cars. Trashed mountain bikes and Pierre's broken Oakley sunglasses in the grass next to him.   
  


“I think I’ve broken my arm, Pierre..." He breathed painfully to his wailing friend, knowing Pierre easily exaggerated when he was in moderate to no pain, and he hoped that was the case right now. "Pierre... Just... focus on breathing. Can you reach your phone? I don’t think I can reach mine.”   
  


Pierre whimpered something back, something that sounded similar to help me. His cries turned into growls that he forced through set teeth and then his noises became rapid bursts of shallow breaths.   
  


"My ears...are gone," Pierre cried, although he meant to say he was hurting terribly. His brain was fuzzy, out of context, hard to grasp. It just knew one thing and it was certain: death is inevitable. 

* * *

"Why did this happen?" Charles asked his own mirror reflection slowly, taking in the depressing sight of the black arm sling supporting his left arm. Fate was the word that came to his mind. Fate—on point—showed up to restore the balance in the universe around him, he decided this as if that was the ultimate truth to his question, and something valuable had to be learnt from this. _ Never go to a mirror for advice _ , he told himself, staring into his own hazel eyes. _ Mirror, mirror on the wall, is Pierre into me at all? _   
  


"I'm batshit crazy because I'm talking to a mirr—" He got interrupted by someone knocking on the bathroom door.   
  


"Excuse me?" A small female voice asked. She knocked twice again. "Please. I really need to go. The other toilet is out of order."   
  


Charles's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He had forgotten about the broken toilet sign sitting on the other door. Checking his wrist watch he also realized how long he had been barricading himself in here: Thirteen minutes. That was not a record but unacceptable for a bathroom break at a hospital in a city with over a hundred thousand of citizens. He stepped out, smiled apologetically at the girl, then at the old lady standing next in line. She eyed him condescendingly, probably thought him a rascal. _Oh well... Shit happens_. Then he calmly sauntered over to a bench with one free spot next to a man with an eye-patch and sat down, legs wide apart and pretended he wasn’t there. No one was able to see him. He was Harry Potter wearing an invisibility cloak. He reached for his queue ticket in his right pant pocket. The man next to him shifted. Charles could sense his eyes on him, like torches they were, annoying and distracting. People staring him out in public didn’t bother him that much any other days, although now he felt like a weak prey, a sitting duck with a broken wing and couldn’t ignore it. Maybe it was the cast around his arm that made it so much worse. It was itching and made him less flexible. Then he reminded himself he got away easily in that crash five days ago compared to his poor friend Pierre. All he had suffered was a broken arm and some bruises while Pierre had ended up with a fractured pelvis and a concussion. 

Charles had wanted to sue that idiot who drove into them. But that person was still unidentified, unseen and still on the run from this vicious Ferrari driver and his lawyer. His chances of scoring any more points in the Formula One Championship was sadly over for this season. _Say hello to at least eight weeks of recovery duties... Depressing_. This day however, beautiful and sunny, with birds and insects swirling around in the air happily, should not be wasted on anger. Charles felt quite nervous though while waiting for his turn in line. He had never been to this hospital before even though he had visited Pierre's hometown a bunch of times over the years, but this was the first time he had an errand inside this building. He was here to see his friend. Hopefully it would turn out that way. He hoped Pierre was feeling strong enough to see him and have a quick chat. Twenty minutes or ten, didn’t matter to him. All he needed was to see Pierre’s face, those dimples when he smiled and how his eyes squeezed together when he laughed.   
  
  
The man sitting beside him suddenly said, "Sorry, I just... want to say it’s a shame what happened to you and Pierre Gasly. Really unfortunate." 

  
"Yeah, it is. Thanks," Charles replied indifferently. Seventy-four. Seventy-five. He checked the number on his ticket restlessly. Three more to go. 

  
"No problem," said the stranger. "Do you think you can make it back before Abu Dhabi?” 

  
Charles wondered if this was a journalist in a half-ass pirate disguise. "No, I’m out for the rest of the season." 

  
"Damn, that sucks. Do you live here?" 

  
"Of course not," Charles said. "This is a hospital." 

  
"Hah!" The man caught the sarcasm and seemed to be enjoying himself, obviously completely unaware Charles was not. "Would it be cool if I took a selfie with you?" 

  
Charles exhaled because he was getting slightly annoyed and couldn’t hide it. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood for that. But I can sign you an autograph instead, if you like?" 

  
The expression on the man's face went from disappointment to joy with in a second and he began to fumble for a pen in his shoulder bag as well as a notepad. Charles took the pen and scribbled down his signature gracefully, gave the pen back and stood. Now why did he do that? With one more number to go there wasn’t enough time for him to walk around without endangering losing his spot within the queue line. He lowered himself down on the bench and pretended nothing had happened. 

  
"Are they looking after your injury at this hospital? The man next to him could not leave him alone. 

  
"No, I don’t live here.” 

  
"How do you recover from that?" The man asked next, curiously, looking at Charles's broken arm. "I mean as a F1 driver you would want to get back into training and racing as quick as possible, I would assume." 

  
"Yeah, but honestly, I don't want to sit here and talk about my life with a stranger," said Charles straight forward. 

  
"Of course, of course." The man finally backed off. "I'm sorry." 

* * *

  
  
The receptionist meeting Charles at the front desk was an old lady with a raspy, coarse voice. She sounded like she had swallowed every cigar made in Cuba during the 50s. She looked at him a couple of times with a studious wrinkle between her eyebrows while trying to figure out where Pierre Gasly's room was located. It appeared to be a mystery for a while and it freaked Charles out a little bit. Then coming to the conclusion his friend was in the other building on floor five there was the other mystery if Charles was on his visitor's list at all. 

After a minute of staring at her computer, the old lady finally looked at Charles and said, "Sorry. There's no Charles Gasly on this list." 

  
Charles was startled. "It's Leclerc. Not Gasly ."   
  


The old lady gave a loud sigh saying she had had enough of this, but checked the list once again and it was not a long list of names. "Yes, Charles Leclerc it says here," she confirmed firmly, facing him and handed over a small map. "You're welcome." 

He held the map in his hand all the way over to the other building and all the way up the long stairs to floor five, not using it a single time. He always took the stairs to get the feeling of burning off calories he surely could do without. Especially in this impaired condition it was hugely important he did not gain one single kilo in weight. His tummy had a series of complaints about this outrageous low calorie-intake, rumbling was one of them, craving cakes and snacks was another popular one, but Charles only gave into them once a year and that was on Christmas eve. 

Intensive Care, said a large blue sign sitting on the wall. Charles looked at it and then turned away to face another entrance door nearby. That sign said “Patient Ward”. That was where he was heading. He pushed the door open with the weight of his body and strode inside a bright and sterile corridor, feeling an ecstatic butterfly sensation come to life in his chest. _Please, let Pierre be awake, let him feel okay enough for this_, he begged to some higher existence up there. He was greeted with careful nods by white robes moving by him as he headed eagerly for the door with number seven on the wall. It happened to be a long journey down this never-ending corridor, and once he stood by that door to Pierre's room, he could feel the pace of his breathing quickening. _Don't be like that. Don't let your feelings get out of hand. No flowers or chocolate though, what kind of friend is he? Should he head to a store and get something for Pierre?_ _No. No, stop thinking and just do this_. Just as he grabbed the door handle, someone on the other side was doing the same and he felt the handle move in his grasp. Quickly he let go of it and was suddenly facing a young nurse-looking girl with brown curly hair who stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him and let out a gasp. 

  
"I'm so sorry," she apologized to him. Then she blinked and looked completely startled. "Are you Charles Leclerc? ...Forgive me." Her shorter form swiftly escaped out and Charles watched her haste into another corridor, limping. 

  
"She must have seen you somewhere before," said Pierre airily, half sitting in his bed, grinning knowingly as Charles came inside and closed the door gently behind him. 

  
"You think?" Charles surveyed the room briefly. "Typical to run into a fan who's a nurse. Your nurse." 

  
"She is a sweet girl. I like her." Pierre thought of fluffy cotton clouds, feeling a funny, warm buzz in his head. Morphine dripped steadily, slowly into his blood stream through an IV tube going into his right arm. And he was happy about that. 

  
"Don't date your fans Pierre," Charles warned him. He really meant it, disliking the thought of Pierre ending up with a girl in general, but fans were just a big NO. He came over and sank down on the wooden chair with armrests. The cushion was flat and hard against his bum. Pierre expressed he did not feel like it concerned him because obviously the nurse was Charles's fan, not his. 

  
"Lies," Charles snorted. "She knows one F1 driver it means she keeps track of all his rivals and no doubt she's pretending to be all clueless about you just to get into your pants." 

  
Pierre gave a carefree shrug, smiling. "I wouldn't mind to get laid." 

  
Charles was almost out of his chair at those words. "Get laid in here?" He hissed loudly. "At a hospital? With her?" 

  
"Sure. If she enjoys dominance. I mean, I'm literally chained to this bed already." 

  
"Wait." This was getting out of hand quickly for Charles who had never heard Pierre ever take those words into that combination and used them in the same sentence. He tried to remain on his chair, sitting on the very edge. "What else...do you like?" He asked Pierre, his voice low and tense. 

  
"That varies from time to time. I'm a Frenchman." 

  
"That's the greatest non-answer I have ever heard," Charles said and watched Pierre snort through a sweet smile. He leaned a bit closer to Pierre, locking gaze with him and said, “This is a sick place to have sex in, even for you." 

  
"Want my left overs?" Pierre's face was a study of humor, bringing his half empty dinner plate full of vegetables from the side table to hold it in front of Charles. 

  
"Please." Charles was ever so close to burst into a laugh. "I'm talking to you." 

  
“No, you were staring into my eyes like you want to make love to my soul!" Pierre laughed as he kept talking, sounding almost a little like a barking sheep, "I feel like I'm in a Julia Roberts movie with you and you're about to runt after me at the airport because I forgot that Espresso Red Bull drink you hate so much on your table and you can't wait to shove it up my ass. It's how you say 'I love you' in France. It's the French version of every Julia Roberts' movie ever made.” 

  
Charles laughed. "Pierre!” He managed to say at last, "I swear...the drugs they give you here can't be right." 

  
"Are you in love with me?" 

  
At that sudden change of subject, Charles was stunned. Pierre put the plate down on his side table and said, "Am I the guy you picture in your head standing next to you in line outside of a budget cinema before we realize the Elvis Presley wedding chapel is in the next building?" 

  
"This is so absurd," Charles said quietly, looking at his friend in concern. 

  
Pierre leaned a little closer to him. "I think it's great to be that guy." 

  
"Stop messing with me.” 

  
"Can I kiss you?" 

  
Charles stood, achingly staring at the open windows across the room. "I...I don't know what to do." He lowered his eyes on his friend who was smiling so sheepishly it gave him an upset feeling it was the drugs making him say these things to him. _Or what to say even... _

  
Feeling euphoric but so heavy and tired, Pierre could only smile and see what it’d do for him. In his memory floated pieces of fun times, and he happened upon one which had him reach out to Charles's healthy hand and grab it. Charles looked at their hands entangling, daringly embracing his around Pierre's to a gentle squeeze. And they said nothing more. Charles wished he was able to read Pierre’s mind. He wanted to know if he was being honest or just high. Usually when Pierre became silent in the midst of a conversation many would think he was bored or shy, but Charles knew his friend well enough to understand he was just thinking and contemplating, maybe considering an answer, and as for now he had to go with that conclusion for his own peace of mind.   
  
A long moment passed. Charles sat in the armchair, holding Pierre's hand in his and patiently waited for him to say something. Pierre had his eyes closed though, looking like he had fallen asleep and even then, Charles would not leave the room or let go of his hand. He desperately wanted to hear Pierre tell him what he really felt for him. 

  
"I miss my car," Pierre murmured sometime later. Charles turned his head up from his phone to look at his friend beside him, seeing he was still looking to be sound asleep; he mustered a tired smile, dropped his phone onto his lap and touched his forehead gently with his free hand. He combed aside the fluff of hair draping over his forehead. It was airy and light, someone must had or maybe Pierre had cleaned it recently. 

  
"Which one?" Charles asked him softly, unsure if he was talking from a dream or if he was half-awake. 

  
Pierre took a deep, peaceful breath and retorted, "Can't you see it?" 

  
"Maybe." Charles suspected he was awake, but kept fiddling with his hair around his forehead because Pierre let him. "Is it your Toro Rosso?" 

  
A weak smile tugged at the corner of Pierre's lips. "Make a better guess." 

  
Charles smiled, feeble in his hand when pinching Pierre's earlobe. "You're a fucking tease. Even asleep you can't resist, can you?" 

  
At that, Pierre opened his eyes a slit. "If you kiss me, it will shut me up for sure." 

  
"I can't," said Charles, nervously. "I'm watching this annoying Dutch Red Bull guy playing around with a Go Pro camera." He held up his phone for Pierre to see who he meant. It was a YouTube clip with Max Verstappen filming him and Pierre riding scooters down a long, steep ramp of some kind. It truly looked awesome and Charles secretly wished it had been him in Max's place.   
  
  
Pierre looked thoughtful. "Did you know that guy has seen my naked ass more than you have?" 

  
“Oh, my God. Really?" 

  
"Yes." Pierre beamed tiredly, noticing a faint flash of hurt in Charles's eyes. 

  
"Okay, glad you told me.” Charles quickly picked up the TV-remote and dropped his phone on the floor accidentally. Wearing a cast was a complicated life. 

  
"It's not really like we were steady or anything. We had a thing but I couldn't stop fantasying about you." Pierre touched the side of Charles's muscular, lean neck with his curious fingers before he cupped it at the back, tenderly massaging it. "Can we kiss now?" He asked him sincerely. "I don't want to joke around anymore."   
  
  
Stiff and tense, Charles met his gaze, the desire to lean in for a kiss was problematic yet all he wanted for himself. The intense nervousness he was experiencing made him feel really close to throw up. That was the last thing he wanted to do for sure. He saw Pierre trying to get closer to him, making him come closer too by putting pressure on his neck.   


"I feel sick," Charles complained quietly and noticed himself lean in closer as if something else in his body had taken over and he was just a passenger.   
  


"You're in the right place then," Pierre teased through a faint grin, brow-to-brow with him finally.   
  


Then both of them felt their lips brush against each other, a tingling and a wondrous experience, and sensing that they gave more into it instinctively. 

  
"Feel better?" Pierre said onto Charles's mouth and felt his lips stretch and he smiled too, deepening the kiss as he leaned back lazily until Charles was almost down on the bed with him, his free hand planted on the mattress next to him. In that moment, Charles couldn't think of anything better than the two of them. Cinders sparked in his chest and the murmurs of unsuspecting people on the other side of the door turned to uncomplicated dust. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy ending. Exactly what I needed today. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
